She simply thought: "He had to go through all that.
If he fancied he was dying, can I help it?" ... Then she looked at her
own empty bed. He reposed; he slept. But she did not repose nor sleep.
She drew aside one of the blinds, and as she did so she could feel the
steady slight current of cold air entering the room from the window
open at the top. The street seemed to be full of daylight. The dawn
had been proceeding in its vast secrecy and was now accomplished.
She drew up the blind slowly, and then the gas-flame over the
dressing-table seemed so pale and futile that she extinguished it,
from a sort of pity. In silence she pulled out the iron bolts in the
window-sash that had been Mrs. Maldon's device for preventing burglars
from opening further a window already open a little, thus combining
security with good hygiene. Louis had laughed at these bolts, but Mrs.
Maldon had so instilled their use into both Rachel and Mrs. Tams that
to insert them at night was part of the unchangeable routine of the
house. Rachel gently pushed up the lower sash and looked forth.
Bycars Lane, though free from mud, was everywhere heavily bedewed. The
narrow pavement glistened. The roofs glistened. Drops of water hung
on all the edges of the great gas-lamp beneath her, which was still
defying the dawn.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395